


Lamb.

by Different_approach



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Enemies to Enemies, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Oral Sex, Torture, and feel bad about it, but they are going to fuck, they’re never getting along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Different_approach/pseuds/Different_approach
Summary: There are terrible mistakes about to be made, accidents waiting to happen. The Rookie sees them coming, and can only brace for the collision.





	1. Chapter 1

Alwyn’s parents picked his name out of a book.

He was already four days old, his mother told him. Came three weeks too soon. She told the story as if Alwyn’s father had been there to flip the pages with her. But Alwyn knows his father was already long gone, even if his son arrived three weeks early.

Before the crash, before the Heralds and Hope County, Alwyn never thought that much about his name. It’s Welsh, but he’s not. But now he thinks there is a great irony in his name. Because there’s blood in between his teeth and John Seed’s hand against his thigh. 

Blessed.

He spits blood back in the Baptist’s face and watches as John smiles, how he laughs with his cheeks painted red in the harsh orange light. Hudson tries to scream into her gag, but Alwyn just wishes she would be quiet. He wants to believe he can get them out of this. 

John leans in closer. He still smells of imported cologne and starched linens. He’s not the country boy his brothers are, that Alwyn has always assumed himself to be. Hope County is two-thousand miles from Georgia but John is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere with German cars with a hundred thousand miles already on them, driven by undergraduates to campus only to sit in the dorm parking lot all semester. Except when they drive around the sleepy eastern seaboard town smoking clove cigarettes with the windows down.

Was that in a movie? Must’ve been. Because what does Alwyn know about a liberal arts education? He got through high school fine and watched his mom’s teeth fall out the year after. Watched her die too, before he got the job as deputy, and the health insurance that came with it.

This time Alwyn laughs at himself. And John smiles back, coaxing him to say, “Yes.” And it must be the Bliss still in his lungs from running through the river that makes him respond like John is propositioning him, purring out “Yes,” in a way he’d normally reserve for bed. But if it gets him and Hudson out of this, Alwyn will spread his legs. Rather not. But would rather live, too.

Once the word is past Alwyn’s lips, John runs his hand down the side of Alwyn’s face. He’s got a week’s worth of stubble on and it doesn’t suit him. But every safety razor Alwyn had come across had been rusted through. And he doesn’t know how to use a straight edge to shave.

Before he manages to come back around to the present moment, to shake away the tendrils of Bliss that never seem to fade, now that he’s spent weeks running around the county, John is already gone. Taking Hudson away.

This is his chance, he realizes. He just as to get out of the damn chair.

Throwing his weight into it, Alwyn scoots himself towards the stairwell. This is the dumbest fucking idea he’s had in the last five minutes. But he can’t see another way. He pushes himself down the stairs, trying vainly to protect his head and neck. By the time he reaches the bottom, the wheelchair he was strapped in is in shambles and his fucking knees and kidneys hurt. But he’s free. 

He grabs the first pipe he sees, holding tight with a white-knuckled grip as he stays low to the ground. 

Hudson, Hudson, he’s got to find her. Two of them together is better than just him out here alone. Alwyn is going to get her out.

Slipping through the bunker, Alwyn tries to stay out of sight. But he keeps getting turned around in the corridors that all look the fucking same. The cultists’ footsteps echo off of all the metal walls and he can get his bearings.

When John’s voice comes on over the PA, Alwyn nearly pukes. The Peggies will be looking for him now. But then John tells them to hold their weapons steady. “I can see you through the cameras, lamb,” John taunts, “I’ll help you find her. Take the second left.”

Alwyn stands up from behind the crate he was using for cover, the pipe still gripped tightly in his hands. Two of the cultists turn at the noise he makes, but don’t raise their weapons. Their eyes never leave him as he walks right past them, turning where John said. His head starts to throb, his breath growing short.

“I thought we had an agreement. Now left here,” John says and Alwyn follows. “There were so many more things for us to share. To say yes to. Keep going straight. I was going to make you scream yes, lamb.”

Ahead of him a slatted grate opens, just enough for Alwyn to see through to the other side. Hudson is still bound in her chair, eyes wide and bloodshot. She fights against her bonds, screaming into her gag.

Behind her, John stands with the PA receiver still in front of his face. “I just know you are a screamer.” Even with his mouth blocked, Alwyn knows John is smiling. Good teeth and terrifying joy.

In a fit of desperation, Alwyn smashes his pipe against the grate, trying to bang it loose. The smile falls from John’s face the second time Alwyn strikes and he speaks over the sound system once more, “Subdue him.”

Alwyn hears boots coming up behind him. Moving on instinct, he takes a swing before the closest peggie can draw his gun. He smashes the second cultist in the face, dropping the pipe and grabbing the gun instead.

He needs to get Hudson out. But he can’t do it if he’s dead.

Alwyn runs. And with the grace of god, he scrambles towards the exit. 

Once he’s burst through the doors and into the sunlight, he clutches at the front of his shirt, feeling his heart pound, his stomach churn. He reaches towards his side pocket for his radio before realizing it’s gone. His only option is to get himself to the main road, hope the resistance finds him first.


	2. Chapter 2

Alwyn manages to flag down a truck before too long, one that isn’t that “mayonnaise” color. The couple who pull over when he shouts are kind enough. They say they’ve heard about the Deputy, and they didn’t expect him to be so small.

They let him use their radio to reach Fall’s End. Pastor Jeffries gets on the frequency, breathing heavily enough in relief on the other side of the radio that it helps Alwyn relax too. The Pastor tells Alwyn to stay put, he’ll get in contact with a resistance member to come pick him up. Give them ten, fifteen minutes at most to dispatch someone.

The couple offers to drive him to the nearest safe location, but Alwyn declines politely. He has to keep from laughing, nowhere is really safe. Nowhere in Hope County, and he’s been at this long enough now to worry that even beyond the county’s boundaries, they’ll be nowhere safe for him.

In the end, they wait with him, the three of them standing around the truck, out in the open and exposed. All of the Peggies have seen Alwyn’s photograph by now, something that one of the Seeds pulled out of the high school yearbook. The picture is three years old, but it’s a good enough approximation.

The resistance truck arrives and Alwyn thanks the couple politely, before hopping into the cab. The driver doesn’t talk much, other than it’s good to see the Deputy alive and well. They were starting to worry about him. 

Alwyn keeps the window rolled up, even though the air is sweltering. The driver keeps his down and his elbow sticking out. At least, maybe, the cultists won’t be able to get a good look at Alwyn with as fast as they’re moving. 

By the time they make it to Fall’s End, Alwyn is nearly asleep in the passenger side, but he kept stirring with unrest. Hard to relax. Hard to let go. But it’s been almost three days since he’s slept. That seems right? Jeffries comes to greet him and Alwyn is too terrified to ask how long he’s really been gone.

There’s a cot in the church with his name on it. Almost literally, because once he heads to the makeshift barracks, he finds Boomer asleep on the mattress he last used.

Jeffries asks if he’s got anything that needs washing, and tells him the dog has been waiting for him all this time.

Alwyn doesn’t think much about stripping down. They’re all far past the point of privacy. He apologizes for the mess as he shoves his dirty clothes into Jeffries’ waiting arms. Jeffries says there’s water in the tank if he wants to wash up. Rained good and heavy while he was inside the bunker. Rain in the forecast too. There’s Bliss in the precipitation, but not as bad as the pipes. 

Thanking him, Alwyn excuses himself to the cramped church bathroom. There’s a hole in the wall to connect to the rainwater reservoir. One of the farmers brought his own tanks here for the good of the town. There are still charitable people left in this world. Alwyn has to remind himself of that.

He takes a washcloth off the stack on top of the toilet before opening up the tap and letting water fill the basin. The water is a little sun warm and the soap lathers well in the washcloth. He wipes his face, under his arms, between his legs, peeling back the grime just a little bit. They can’t really afford much more than that. Not from lack of water. It rains enough. But from the contaminants. He pours the murky brown-gray water down the drain when he’s done.

There are four other resistance members still loitering around the barracks. At least Alwyn has a towel around his waist now. But he drops it to pull on some boxers and a tee before telling Boomer to scoot over. The dog is well behaved, moving from the center of the mattress down towards the foot. If Alwyn bends his knees, they can share it just fine. And he doesn’t have the heart to kick a dog out of bed.

—

Grace is there the next afternoon, when Alwyn finally wakes up. Adelaide dropped her of this morning, before continuing on to go visit Nick and Kim in anticipation of the little one. Said she had gifts for the baby and for Kim. Alwyn doesn’t ask.

“She’ll be back by dinner time,” Grace says with typical calm, her hands held neatly together in front of her stomach. She does that a lot, as if she’s got nervous energy she’s holding back, that she can’t shake out. Alwyn wonders about her. How hard it must be to always look so composed. He knows he looks a wreck ninety percent of the time. But it doesn’t matter as long as he gets the job done.

Sharky and Hurk show up before Adelaide does, screaming in on Hurk’s truck. Sharky jumps down from the back, his smile wide and arms open, shouting about how good it is to see the Deputy alive and well.

Alwyn accepts the hug, though he’s not usually much for affection. There’s something grounding about how tight Sharky squeezes, and how Hurk comes around his other side and wraps around him too. Grace laughs, so soft and short that Alwyn barely catches it.

They hang around Fall’s End. Ostensibly, Alwyn is trying to formulate a plan. But he’s coming up empty handed. Maybe the Sheriff will have a better idea for getting Hudson out. Once Adelaide shows up, maybe she’ll agree to fly him over.

Sharky and Hurk grow bored of cards. Alwyn has too many drinks to see quite straight. Fuck it, he doesn’t have to drive and the beer is clean of those fucking drugs. Grace coaxes the boys to keep playing. Because as long as they’ve got something to do, it means she doesn’t have to talk.

It’s dark before the helicopter touches down in the open field across from the town. Hurk mumbles something about another round and disappears back inside the bar, leaving the other three out on the patio to greet Adelaide.

“Heard you got yourself mixed up with that John Seed again,” she puts her fists against her hips and shakes her head, grey-blonde curls falling out from under her bandana. “He’s got an obsession with you, sweetheart.”

Hurk comes back from the bar, four bottle necks clutched expertly between his fingers on his right hand, and a mixed drink for his mom in his left. Adelaide will fly intoxicated, no matter how Alwyn tries to convince her not to. He’s given up at this point.

“Like he’s in love with you!” Sharky blurts out, taking a beer from his cousin.

Adelaide laughs, “maybe you should just go fuck the boy. Use the magic power of your dick to bring him to the good side.”

Alwyn groans, covering his face with his hands, “If I knew that would work, I would do it, in an instant.”

And maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud because the little group goes quiet. Something he expects from Grace but not the Drubmans, who barely ever let him get a word in edgewise.

“Hon, we didn’t mean that,” Adelaide’s voice shifts tone, to something motherly and concerned. Alwyn sort of hates it, “none of us would want to put you in that position. That man is a monster. All the Seeds are.”

“Yeah,” Alwyn croaks. 

He was serious. He’s still serious. If it will get the Holland Valley into the hands of the resistance, he’ll fucking do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might try writing from john’s perspective next. thoughts? should i just stick with the deputy?


	3. Chapter 3

It was Joseph who first called the Deputy “Lamb,” John would rather call him, “Wrath.” But there’s a softness, a full, plush feeling to the pet name, one that John can’t help but think fits the Deputy well.

He’s small, with cheeks that pink easily and the last remnants of youth still clinging to his bones. Soft brown curls and dark, wide-set eyes. Cherubic. 

When Joseph first lost track of the Deputy, John took it upon himself to learn what he could about the man, something that might give his family more of an advantage over the resistance. The cards as stacked against the Deputy already, but John doesn’t take chances.

Alwyn (which John didn’t know how to pronounce until he looked it up on his phone) attended Hope County High School, which made learning about him pitifully easy. Easy to find pictures of him in the local papers, a blurb about his mother’s passing recently. All alone in the world now. John tries to find out who Alwyn’s friends are, who he may turn to for comfort. Which is how he ends up in the trailer park where Alwyn lived.

The mess of bodies strewn about proves Alwyn has been to the park. The stench makes it clear that it was more than two weeks ago. The resistance doesn’t have enough members to hold as many positions as Eden’s Gate. Too many of the locals already made their escape from the county. So the trailer park lies empty.

John covers his nose and mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket, but it does little to clear the smell. He tells his escorts to sweep the park for any survivors, or resistance members who might still lie in wait.

He goes from trailer to trailer, looking for the one labeled “Henderson,” while the faithful search the others.

The door to Alwyn’s trailer is busted open. He must have lost the key. John pushes the door to the side, amused that it doesn’t quite fall off. Inside the place is a mess. Alwyn was searching for something, or was in such a rush he didn’t care, or wanted to make sure there was nothing left for John to take.

Still, John rifles through Alwyn’s belongings. There are photographs on the fridge, held there with magnets that have brittle plastic flowers on them. A photograph of him and some girl, a friend, maybe, or girlfriend. But John doesn’t think so. Not with the way they press their cheeks together and stare straight ahead at the camera. There’s nothing romantic there.

There’s still food in the cupboards, mostly instant packaged meals and things like cookies and chips. John takes a protein bar from the cabinet, unwrapping the foil and biting down. Tastes like shit.

The narrow kitchen gives way to a small seating area. The television is cracked from corner to corner. It’s a decent flat screen. Looks new. A gaming console sits next to it along with a stack of disks.

On the other side of the partition wall is the bedroom and bath. John goes to the bath first, opening up the cabinet over the sink to look for medications or drugs. Or, rather places where a pill bottle might be suspiciously absent. There’s Advil and toothpaste and about four different skincare products, some of them expensive. Stuff that the Deputy would have to have shipped to Hope County. But there’s nothing to indicate a bottle has been removed.

In the bedroom there is enough space for a double mattress, no bed frame. There is definitely evidence that Alwyn came through to grab some of his own clothes, the drawer is still open. There’s a shoebox still inside that John takes out and sets on the rickety dresser. Opening the box, he finds pretty much what he expected, a half dozen condoms, a bottle of lube that’s been open and partially used, another box nestled inside with a vibrating dildo designed with anal insertion in mind. 

He puts everything back where he found it. Never know when Alwyn might come back for his stash. Wouldn't want him to get too lonely.

There really isn’t anywhere else to check, but John does a cursory sweep of the trailer as he finishes up his snack before tossing the wrapper away. He’s not certain he’s learned anything useful. But you never know when information comes in handy. 

—

One of the faithful says they’ve located the Deputy. He’s been in Fall’s End for three days. Keeping quiet, out of the way. Planning something.

It’s too much of a risk to try and take the town back from the locals. John’s men couldn’t hold out last time against the resistance. Now they wouldn’t even have the advantage of holding the fortified position. 

The Deputy has made the resistance brave.

John leans back in the passenger seat of the truck, his scout on the other end of the radio, “Watch him. Tell me if he moves.”

—

Attempting to radio the Deputy in the car was too risky. John waits until he’s back in his room in the bunker before trying to find the frequency. He knows Joseph talks to the Deputy, sometimes. Faith talks to him too, in delusions and dreams. But John hasn’t made the attempt to contact him.

He could simply radio Joseph to ask how to reach Alwyn. His brother is likely to give up the information without a second thought. After all, each one of his Heralds is trying their best to bring the Deputy to heel. And it doesn’t matter to Joseph who among them claims pretty Alwyn as a prize.

But John wants it to be him.

As much as John tries, he’s still a sinner. And this time, Pride gets the best of him.

Then he remembers Joseph in his room, scrawling something down on the notepad on John’s desk, just after Alwyn had escaped. Joseph had looked so disappointed then, his face drawn and lips downturned. But John checks now to see what he wrote.

It’s the frequency. A gift.

John tunes his radio, chooses his words. It’s late, the Deputy may be trying to sleep. He’s sure to be restless. John is restless.

“Lamb.”

He doesn’t wait long. But he does wait. When the Deputy clicks through to speak, he sounds out of breath, as if he’s been running.

“Who is this?”

And John can see him in his mind’s eye. Curls a mess, bright cheeks, sweat on his brow from exertion. He’s beautiful. 

“Are you still lost?”

“John,” Alwyn’s voice hitches. “How can I find you?” There’s a hesitant confidence in his voice. Something fierce but without teeth. “Alone...I want to talk.”

John smiles, “I’ll give you directions.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t great...but I tried.

Alwyn’s hands shake as he turns the key in the ignition. The truck comes roaring to life and he flips the headlights on. Boomer whines from where he’s seated, patiently waiting on the gravel road. Alwyn tells him to stay.

“You can’t,” Alwyn argues pitifully, as if Boomer can understand. He puts the truck into drive with his eyes on the road. “Tell me,” he says to John over the radio.

“Mm,” John’s voice is tinged with static. The broadcast isn’t quite clear. “Three quarters of a mile, then take a right up past the silo.”

Alwyn grips the wheel. John could just tell him where to go, give him an address or general description. He knows the valley, the county. And more than that, he knows that John knows. He knows John has been to his trailer, one of the resistance scouts saw the Baptist’s convoy pull into the park. There is no other reason John would have personally gone to the abandoned slice of property. Nothing there to see or claim.

“I’ve taken the turn,” Alwyn confirms. The roads are empty.

“Straight on for another mile,” John says.

Alwyn chews on his bottom lip, “You’re alone?” This will never work if John is surrounded by peggies. Alwyn won’t stand a chance. Ultimately, they’re loyal to Joseph, not to John. That’s the only card Alwyn really has to play here, that John may not be as faithful as those at his beck and call.

“I’m driving up myself. You should reach the destination before me, Lamb.”

“Don’t call me that,” Alwyn urges.

John takes a pause before replying, “Would you rather, ‘Wrath?’”

Alwyn frowns but doesn’t respond, simply following the road. He’s figured out they’re heading to the Boyds’ house. There isn’t any other possible location with the directions John has given.

“Where are you now?” John asks, and Alwyn thinks maybe, just maybe this might work. 

“I’ll be waiting,” after that, he cuts the line.

The residence is dark, but Alwyn can hear the generator humming. Once inside, he flips on the lights and looks around. The place is in pretty good condition, all things considered. John picked somewhere...nice.

Sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, Alwyn toes off his shoes, bends his toes inside his socks. It’s been a week since he’s showered and he starts to wonder if the taps still work. But he’s sure to get a little high from the water, and he needs to keep his head on straight. Even without a proper shower, he’s fairly clean. He’s been scrubbing pretty regularly the last few days as he’s been holed up in Fall’s End. Still, he’d about kill to stand under a hot spray.

Alwyn thinks about undressing, whether that would be more or less exciting for John? What is going to get him to let down his guard? Seeing Alwyn flushed and waiting, ready...or the opportunity to tear at each other’s clothes?

He’s never tried to seduce anyone before.

There’s a lot of dirt in the carpet.

He hears what is probably John’s car pull up the gravel driveway. Shadows dance across the walls as the light shifts outside the window. John cuts the engine and his keys clink together as he climbs out of the car. Alwyn tries to breathe, fumbling with the buttons of his flannel.

John comes through the bedroom door, his expression relaxed but jaw clenched, “Wasn’t sure I’d find you here.”

“Could’ve been a trap,” Alwyn replies, letting go of the button between his thumb and forefinger. “Could still be a trap.”

John’s smile is nothing short of predatory. “I could say the same. But it’s not.”

“No,” Alwyn concedes.

While the overhead light is already on, John clicks on the lamp in the corner and suddenly the little cabin room is the brightest light in the night. 

Alwyn starts, “I wanted to talk.”

“So did I,” John smiles, stalking towards the bed.

Talking was never part of Alwyn’s plan. At least not until he had John a mess below him, vulnerable and panting and wanting more. Wanting something Alwyn can give him.

Reaching up, Alwyn grabs the front of John’s shirt, dragging him down until their bodies crash together. Alwyn can’t forget himself enough to press his lips to John’s, instead putting his teeth to John’s neck. He doesn’t bite, but he scrapes, feeling how warm and soft and easily bruised John can be. He’s just a man. And men are vulnerable.

“Let’s talk,” Alwyn taunts, wrapping his legs around John’s waist and locking in. He arches his back, grinding his cock against John’s abdomen and trying to rend a response from the other man.

John grabs both Alwyn’s wrists, wrenching them above his head and pinning them to the mattress. His eyes are as cold as ever, sparkling blue in the bright lights and keenly sharp. He knows. Of course he knows. That this is Alwyn’s attempt to manipulate him. He’s too smart to think otherwise. 

But it doesn’t matter.

“It’s a sin,” John coos, rocking their bodies together. Even through the layers of their clothing, Alwyn can feel the heat of John’s body. His weight. Slim but solid. “You’re a sinner,” John punctuates, rubbing his thumbs along the insides of Alwyn’s wrists.

“So are you,” Alwyn counters, trying to wrench his hands away. John holds him down, presses harder to prove his point. “You try and try to atone. But it never works,” Alwyn drops his voice low, tilts his head to expose his neck, try and bait John to giving in. “It’s who you are...John.” The name tastes like ashes, like corpses, “You’re a sinner too.”

“I’m repentant,” John mocks.

And for a blinding moment, Alwyn thinks this might work. John doesn’t believe. Not like Joseph does. Maybe he believes in Joseph, that the Project will enrich them, make them powerful and feared. Make it so no one will ever hurt their family again. And John doesn’t fucking care how many people die in order for him to be safe. He’s a monster. And he’s terrified. Where Joseph is certain, John will hedge his bets. 

Alwyn flexes his fingers, before opening up his hands, spreading his digits wide. John’s hands still wrapped around his wrists, Alwyn stops fighting. He parts his lips and moans, telling John that they should stop talking and start sinning. If that’s what they both are.

John tries to keep both of Alwyn’s wrists wrapped in one hand, but his palm isn’t big enough to hold him. In the end, he has to let Alwyn go to start on the buttons of his flannel. He takes the first button carefully between his fingers, unlatching down the line, one, two, three.

With his hands now free, Alwyn reaches up to card his fingers through John’s hair. The strands stick between his fingers, stiff with product and slightly crispy to the touch. Impatient now, John simply shoves up Alwyn’s undershirt until it bunches in his armpits, leaning over to latch his mouth around one rosy nipple.

Alwyn can’t help but gasp as John’s wet mouth closes down, his teeth scraping gently over sensitive skin as he starts to suck. He grabs onto John’s shoulders, nails biting down into John’s pressed shirt. John’s beard scratches against his chest with every twitch and shudder.

“John, fuck, John,” Alwyn pants, already losing control of the situation. The attention to his chest has blurred his resolve, made his thoughts cloudy. There’s little reprieve as John switches to the other side.

Alwyn tries in vain to grind into John’s leg, to get a little friction to ease the pressure of his arousal. But John keeps shifting, just out of reach, then so tantalizingly close, ebbing and flowing with the intensity of his mouth against Alwyn’s chest.

By the time John pulls away, Alwyn’s nipples are hard and flushed and on the verge of aching with too much stimulation. He tosses his head back against the pillow and groans. As the saliva cools his skin starts to gooseflesh.

John works Alwyn’s belt buckle open, unzipping his jeans with little preamble. Alwyn is embarrassingly hard as John pulls out his cock, letting it curl back towards the flat of his abdomen.

Without warning, John lets go of him, reaching instead to wrap his arms around Alwyn’s back and hoist him up into his lap. Alwyn is certain he looks a mess with his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his clothing bunched up awkwardly around his body.

John slots his hand between their bodies, slowly working Alwyn’s cock. The strokes are slow and steady, not quite tight enough. It feels good. It feels fucking good wrapped around another body like this, feeling John’s chest pressed against his. But it’s not enough. It’s so, frustratingly, not enough.

As John keeps pace, he brings his mouth to Alwyn’s ear, whispering things he already knows, “I went to your trailer.”

Alwyn only latches his arms around John’s shoulders, holding on tight and breathing into John’s neck. John’s skin is red and hot against Alwyn’s cheek.

“Found your toys, but you know the real thing is better. Don’t you? That’s why you left everything behind? Hm?” No longer having to support Alwyn’s back, John skirts his hand down to his ass instead, dipping his fingers along the center seam of Alwyn’s jeans, pressing against where he finds his hole. “I’d fill you up good. Paint your insides. Make you feel so good.”

“Fuck, John,” Alwyn claws at him, trying to get one hand to the waistband of John’s slacks. But with John’s hand already wrapped around his cock, there’s not enough room to maneuver. “I’d, you’d...you’d fucking love it,” he tries to coax. “I’m tight. You won’t be able to get enough of my ass.”

John laughs in a way that chills Alwyn to the bone. Too knowing, too sure, “Had a lot of good ass, Lamb.”

“Not mine,” Alwyn counters. “Haven’t had mine.”

John throws him back down on the mattress and Alwyn expects him to tear off his jeans, open his own fly. Alwyn needs a little prep, though he spent a few minutes trying to open himself up before the drive out. He’s a little slick still, but he’ll need a couple fingers before John will be able to push in. He’s got condoms in his flannel pocket, but he’s not holding out that much hope that he can get John into one.

But instead of stripping Alwyn down further, John grabs at Alwyn’s hips and ducks his head, taking the tip of Alwyn’s cock into his mouth and sucking hard. The sheer shock of it knocks the wind out of Alwyn’s lungs and he cries out as John sinks down. John only bobs his head a half dozen times before Alwyn is coming in his mouth, hard and fast and without so much as warning. John swallows and swallows and swallows, his throat tightening in a way that makes Alwyn feel utterly milked dry.

John grabs Alwyn by the wrists one last time, but the hold is less vicious, more possessive. He puts his lips against Alwyn’s, letting him taste, bitter and grounding after the high of sex. 

“Fuck me,” Alwyn slurs, ready for the inevitable. 

But John climbs back out of bed, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, smoothing down the front. “Radio me….next time you’re lost.

The outline of John’s cock is distinct through the fabric of his slacks, but Alwyn can’t find an argument to make him stay. He was supposed to make him stay. He was supposed to find a way out of this endless stream of fighting. The death and the bodies and the toil. Alwyn wants an easy way out. Something that will clear the stench of blood from his nostrils.

He feels dizzy, and John is gone.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for,” Joseph soothes. And John knows that his brother has him figured out. He knows he’s been with the Deputy.

John toes at the rug covering up the concrete bunker floor. It’s some cheap, high-pile scrap that was probably picked up off the side of the road. Most of the bunker is sparse, utilitarian. But John fucked hates getting out of bed and putting his bare feet on the cold floor. He asked for proper carpeting and got this instead. Just another way for Joseph to test him. 

He should be tested. 

He knows that Joseph loves him. In a way no one else ever has. John has been given that love freely as a gift. But he has been earning Joseph’s trust for the last ten years. He’ll be earning Joseph’s admiration for the rest of his life. Because Joseph is wrong. John is not a good man. Not like his brothers. 

“He’s close,” John says, speaking of the Deputy. God, what a sight the man was beneath him, flushed skin and soft hair, crying out to be fucked, to be taken. John wanted nothing more than to tear him up, make him cry and beg and scream his name in terror and arousal. He want to destroy the Deputy in that moment, leave nothing behind that could be identified. But Joseph wants him alive, “He’ll join us, soon.”

Joseph frowns, flipping through the open file folder on John’s desk. Scouting reports from the valley. They’ve lost a lot of ground already, and John plans to fortify the positions they still hold. He’s not Jacob when it comes to military tactics, he’s not even Joseph, who approaches armed conflict with a practical eye, however steeped in sermon. John has skills, undoubtedly. He bought up Hope County for his brothers and for Faith. But he doesn’t have the combat expertise to hold it.

Bringing the Deputy in through his charisma will be his salvation. He just has to stop conceding land in the meantime. 

“I believe in you, brother,” Joseph says, “If the Deputy sees a fraction of what I do in you, he’ll make the right decision.”

John waits for Joseph to leave before bursting into laughter. The thought of the Deputy’s infatuation being more that base desire is too outlandish and improbable to bear. 

\--

“John?” the Deputy radios unexpectedly.

John isn’t alone, and he clicks the radio off to keep the rest of the message from coming through. It takes another ten minutes to complete preparations with the faithful assigned to join the outpost at US Auto and hold their position against the Deputy and the resistance. But as time drags on, his mind wanders back to the call.

What is it Alwyn wants? Why now? And he realizes he should have answered, sent the others away. Finding and capturing the Deputy has been a priority for weeks. No one has to know what Alwyn and John did together. They only have to know that John has gotten inside the Deputy’s head.

But it’s too late now, and John waits until they’ve concluded to pull out his radio again. He makes a show of clicking it back on, waving at the others in the room to leave him. He drawls, “Deputy,” before they’ve closed the door. There will be talk about this. John hopes so. Talk is good, as long as he’s the one shaping the narrative.

“John?” the Deputy repeats before too much longer. “Are you alright?” There’s a strange softness to Alwyn’s voice. Something that sounds like warmth, like care. It takes him aback.

“I’m fine,” that’s not the right answer. He should have responded with something less direct, something that would leave the Deputy guessing, pressing for more, exposing himself.

Instead, Alwyn exhales with relief, “You left so fast...I...I didn’t know.”

John can see it now, Alwyn fidgeting with the hem of his flannel, working at it until the stitching comes apart. Biting at his own lips until they’re raw and red. It should be John biting them instead.

But he had to leave the cabin, their little ‘oasis’ on the hillside. He has to make the Deputy come to him. He tried bending Alwyn’s will once by force, and John came up empty handed. No, he must coax Alwyn to the flock, bit by bit, make him believe this is his decision.

His mouth is dry, but John must speak, “Do you miss me already?” It hasn't even been 48 hours yet.

The pause, waiting for Alwyn to reply is torturously long. “I do...can I see you again?”

“What about your ‘resistance,’ Lamb? What will they think of you, sleeping with the enemy?”

“I don’t care,” Alwyn bites back, “I just want...you.”

John smiles to himself, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table in front of him. He doubts he’ll be able to see Alwyn before the outpost is secure. But for now he can weave a trap for the Deputy to walk into on his own accord.

“What do you want from me?”

Alwyn’s voice hitches, “Why didn’t you fuck me? I would let you.”

It’s John’s turn to be left breathless. What pretty lie will sound sweetest to Alwyn’s ear? “You were too beautiful. I couldn’t defile you like that.”

“Even if I want you to?”

John rubs the heel of his hand against the growing bulge in his slacks. He wishes he could say he wants nothing more. He wants the Deputy’s blood in his mouth, he wants mottled bruises on his fair skin. He wants Alwyn screaming John’s name until he’s hoarse.

Curling his hand around the thick column of his shaft, John squeezes down, trying to take the edge off his arousal. “Lust is a sin, Lamb.” John thinks about those pink lips wrapped around his cock, wet with saliva and pulled tight. “We can’t.”

“It’s not Lust, John,” Alwyn’s voice drops, and so does John’s stomach. “You know it’s more than that.”

John only just pulls his cock through the front of his open slacks before the transmission cuts off. By this point, he’s too tightly wound to stop, fucking into the tight sheath of his hand, imagining Alwyn’s slim hips crashing against his as he fucks into his hole, slick with lube and open for John’s cock. He can see the scars on Alwyn’s body now, where John would mark him, leaving no doubt as to who owns Alwyn, who made him obey.

Spilling across his hand and over his slacks, John lets himself go. Only to remember the importance of the mission Joseph has tasked him with. 

Alwyn will call again, and next time, John will be ready.

—

Alwyn clicks his radio off, just as he can make out the sound of John unzipping his pants. 

“I really wish I didn’t have to hear all that,” Grace groans, “don’t you think this is more...Adelaide’s area of expertise?”

Alwyn’s face starts to flush. He asked Grace to be here precisely because she’s not Adelaide. As much as the helicopter pilot had joked about Alwyn fucking John, she would never actually approve of this plan. She thinks of Alwyn too much like a child.

But Alwyn needed someone there. Someone listening in as he tries to lure John. Someone to remind him of the plan, keep him grounded. Looking at his watch, Alwyn decides, “four am….six hours from now. I’ll call him again. He’ll think I have it bad.”

Grace just shrugs, “Your brilliant plan, Dep.”


End file.
